Snap of the Bowstring
by Hermione Lucky
Summary: Short fic. The title pretty much explains it: Clarice hears the bowstring snap. Based on the book


A/N: Hello all. This is my first Lecter fic, and hopefully many more will come. I believe Thomas Harris is a genius, and I look forward to his coming books. (I do wonder what he's writing about, hope it's something as interesting as the Lecter trilogy.)  
  
Disclaimer: They belong to The Genius.  
  
Snap of the Bowstring  
  
Thou who stealest fire,  
  
From the fountains of the past,  
  
To glorify the present, O, haste,  
  
Visit my low desire!  
  
Strengthen me, enlighten me!  
  
I faint in this obscurity,  
  
Thou dewy dawn of memory.  
  
-Ode to Memory, Alfred Tennyson  
  
The days were long and lazy, here in Buenos Aries. As we watch, a dazzling woman steps out of The Mansion. Its official name, I hate to say, I cannot pronounce, none-the-less spell. Clarice Starling, alias Audra Keller, approaches her Porsche 911, and she drives out quickly down the quarter- mile, paved driveway.  
  
In the markets of Buenos Aries, Clarice walks among the many ethnicities of South America. Not many tourists can be seen; in fact, she hasn't seen one for weeks. They stay in the other part of town, in their large hotels with museums and sporting coliseums surrounding them. But Clarice isn't a tourist, she and lover, Hannibal Lecter, have taken up what could be considered a permanent residence here. They still enjoy the finer things of life, though Clarice insists upon having the fresh vegetables sold by the natives.  
  
In fact, Clarice Starling is not actually Clarice Starling. She is Clarice Lecter. One of the countless perks of living in Buenos Aries was the many underground and black market communities surrounding this hidden couple. Numerous people would have sold out Hannibal, but an old friend had done a favor and wed them, as well as Audra McLane and James Keller. They were quite legal.  
  
Clarice wondered calmly through the market. The variety of things here was endless and always changing. She saw not only the vegetables that she would be buying but also weapons, china, and wooden carvings. Browsing, she picked up a carved figurine. It was a small bird, a starling, in fact. This rang somewhere in the back of her mind, but she could not quite connect it to anything. Many farmers came in on Saturdays and Sundays such as these. Some, she noticed were purchasing new weapons nearby. She noted that they were probably purchasing these to shoot the wild cats that threatened to attack their wild life, though she could not tell if any had in the least experience with weaponry; it didn't appear so.  
  
She smiled, seeing once small boy fiddling with a rather large crossbow. The merchant came over to him.  
  
"Would you like to see how one of these works," he asked in perfect Spanish. As the boy nodded eagerly, he continued. "Well, you just aim it like this, get some tension here and-"  
  
The man was cut off by the twang of the unloaded Crossbow. Clarice didn't see much of what happened next. She gazed around in a daze, her eyes unfocused. Finally, they came to rest on the little bird still in her hand.  
  
"Do you know what happens when a starter starling breeds with another, Clarice?"  
  
Ironic, she remembered now. She remembered moving to Buenos Aries, her wonderful husband, the Mansion, and her car.  
  
What? Had she just said her wonderful husband? But.it was true. That was the odd thing. She remembered being in a trance, as if watching someone else. But that didn't account for.no. She could feel the love for Hannibal now, and realized she'd been slipping out of his hypnosis from the start, but never breaking it. Before, it was as if she was traveling with split vision; now it was all clear. She could think clearly, and see clearly, and yet.There was only one thing do; but vegetables for that night's dinner.  
  
She bought her foods and loaded them into the Porsche, drove home -- knowing the exact routes to take to avoid traffic -- and arrived home before four.  
  
Clarice walked up the marble steps to the grand front doors and stepped into her house of six years. She went through the Entrance Hall, past the Dining Hall, and into the kitchens smoothly.  
  
"Welcome back, Senorita Keller," said one of the servants.  
  
"Thank you, Maria. I bought fresh vegetables and hopefully you can make some good use of them," she replied easily. It struck her as somewhat odd that she would know what to say and how to speak the language. But then again, she had been living here for six years.  
  
"Oh yes, and if I can't, I imagine Senor Keller will make good use of them."  
  
"Yes, thank you Maria," Clarice responded and walked out. She was dieing to see Hannibal again - clearly, in the flesh so to speak. It actually took her a moment of thought to realize that he was most likely in his study, as he always was in the afternoons. He was a night owl, and also enjoyed the early morning hours, although for the most part Hannibal Lecter had always found that afternoons were best served relaxing over some nice music or pleasant books.  
  
She slowly made her way up the grand staircase, surpassing several landings. Finally, she reached the third floor, turned down a few halls and knocked at the study door.  
  
A slightly less raspy voice than she recalled from the dungeons came through the door, "Come in."  
  
She entered to see him pouring over a large volume. He looked up with his reading glasses still on.  
  
"Hello Clarice, dear, how was the market? Busy as usual, I presume." He asked rather shortly.  
  
"Something such as that." Clarice had never been one for much of tactic thinking, and here where she felt so at home, she felt could tell him anything; even something as intense and possibly with unpleasant side effects, as this.  
  
Doctor Hannibal Lecter, MD, got up from his desk, focused past Clarice on one of the book shelves. He did stop in front of her, however, to give her a kiss which she responded to as without doubt as tying her shoelaces. It was habit, and it was true.  
  
He roamed the book shelves in the enormous study for a while. Clarice stood there, and watched him.  
  
"Tell me, Hannibal, did you ever consider snapping the bowstring, so to speak?"  
  
He twirled around to look at her curiously. "What are you saying, Clarice?"  
  
"Exactly what it sounds like: I heard the bowstring's clang."  
  
While most would expect that Hannibal would have sheltered Clarice to keep her from hearing that clang, he did not. He let her lead her own life and for the most part make her own decisions. He had hoped that when she did come out of the trance, she would come out of it with love for him, and that she would not regret anything that had happened. However, Dr. Lecter's nerves were on edge; he could not tell if she still loved him or loathed him.  
  
Clarice regarded his face, not being able to read him. She should have known; after all, even before the trance she had started having feelings for Doctor Lector. But she had to admit, without some sort of serious psychological persuasion she probably would not have left Chesapeake with Hannibal. That or kidnapping.  
  
Her feelings now were true and strong, though. She would follow him to his doom, and he her. She could sense his unease and racked nerves, but she had her game to play.  
  
"Didn't you think there could be.considerably changed feelings after I came out of the trance," she asked.  
  
He nodded, and she stepped closer to him. Slightly closer than arms length apart, Hannibal knew she could easily reach out and stab him, but he trusted his instincts and had courage in his quick reflexes; he stood still.  
  
"Do you want to know how I feel, Dr. Lecter?"  
  
"More than anything," he said breathlessly.  
  
She then leaned in and kissed him passionately.  
  
"I love you, and that is what matters," she said, breaking the kiss.  
  
"And I you," he says and gently kisses her again.  
  
A/N: Yeah, I know it's short, but that's the end. Usually I'm one for long stories but, I don't know.:S Yep, I'm one of those shippers that believes Clarice doesn't sleep, referring to the last page of the book. I can't help it, I mean: I would run away with the freak if I loved him. ;) 


End file.
